


i swear, i say

by ggwynbleidd



Series: Dethentine's [1]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Almost date, Bodyguard Romance, Dethentine's 2021, F/M, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggwynbleidd/pseuds/ggwynbleidd
Summary: A quick glimpse into a day in Amber's life on an almost-vacation.Done for the Dethentine's prompt "Romantic Getaway."
Relationships: Melmord Fjordslorn/Amber (Metalocalypse)
Series: Dethentine's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152359
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	i swear, i say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feeshies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeshies/gifts).



Paris. The stereotypical city of romance and love, happy relationships and thrills. Couples on picnics on the grass near the Eiffel Tower, couples holding hands as they walked by ponds in parks, couples sharing drinks at the cafes on the streets below. But currently, Amber was in a hotel room. On her phone, bored and sad. She had been pulled to Paris not for anything fun but because of her husband's business endeavors. It was fun to be away from Australia at the very least, but there wasn’t much beyond that.

Seth’s parents had been flown in to France as well - some half-assed attempt at a family reunion, despite Seth being absent and her in-laws choosing to take off with the baby all hours of the day. So now it really was just her by herself. The baby was probably at a museum or a playground, Seth was off getting drunk at two in the afternoon and Amber...well...she wasn’t entirely alone.

Her guard was still with her, wasn’t he?

He was sitting on the balcony of the hotel suite in a wicker chair, relaxed, his arms splayed out on the armrests and his head back against the backrest. Melmord. Her loyal little friend and companion. A nice guard dog by her side that bit and snarled at those who tried to touch her.

“Melmord,” she finally called from her place on the sofa. “Are you bored?”

“Are you?” he shot back, lifting his head lazily and cracking an eye open.

“Duh?” with a quirk of her eyebrow, Amber shifted her legs underneath her and waved at the free spot on the sofa. “Come here!”

And Melmord trotted over to sit by her side with that dutiful look on his face. He always had that look and it was something about him that she adored. It was a genuine kindness and loyalty. Or at the very least, that’s what she hoped was in his eyes. He seemed to like her well enough all the same, so at the end of the day she couldn’t give two shits where his real loyalties were places. As long as he made sure she didn’t die, that was fine. Melmord plunked himself down on the sofa next to her with a grunt and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Some days he was a bit awkward about the affection between them. But some days he gave that affection more freely. Amber couldn’t fault him for that at all. Why would she be mad about that? She knew that he wasn’t familiar about certain arrangements her and her dear husband had. The one that worked for the both of them so unquestionably well that it wasn't necessary to speak it out loud.

So, Melmord wrapped his arm around her shoulders, but didn't do much else. They hadn't done much else at all.

“It’s nice here,” he said suddenly. The TV droned on in a bright flash of colors and French and both were far, far beyond Amber’s field of attention. “You like it?”

“Better than Sydney,” Amber checked her phone as it vibrated in her hand. A text from Seth, that he might be running late, but he wasn’t sure.

“Less people trying to kill you here, right?” Melmord laughed as he looked out of the window again. “I dunno how to cure your boredom, though. You wanna go for a walk?”

She paused. Pressed the tip of her nail to her bottom lip as she thought. She didn’t have the clothes for any serious walk. Not anything fashionable but comfortable - the possibility of a photo or two being snapped of her making her worry for a second. But, she could also just enjoy a walk.

“Why not?”

So they went out into the city itself. It wasn’t as pretty from the street. Which was a shame, there was less magic to it. It was just any other regular city.

Which sucked.

She saw a photo that Seth sent her. Him up in some high skyscraper, a nice lunch. Why did he get to do all of this without her? Amber couldn’t help but sulk a little bit and hoped that he wasn’t doing something cool. She hoped he was trapped in some stuffy boardroom with translators and Offdensen’s looming presence on a video call, telepathically willing Seth not to fuck up whatever he was doing with such an intensity that the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Seth had promised her fun when they got to Paris. Just having a break from the baby was nice in and of itself, even if her in-laws had cast a sideways look at Amber and had barely talked to her when they had arrived. That was fine. Normal, even.

It was especially fine when Melmord pointed out one of those cafes that Amber had been envious of from the suite and they sat down at a table outside. Amber looked at the menu in front of her, felt her cheeks grow hot and cursed herself for taking Spanish in high school instead of French. Not that it would have worked either way, she didn’t do that great in Spanish. Maybe she would have done better with French?

She stared at the menu. It was Paris. A tourist spot. Why was there no English at a tourist spot? The sight of a waitress approaching her made Amber squirm in her seat as she looked at Melmord with a sudden anxiousness that struck her.

“Do you like coffee or tea?” he asked.

“Coffee. Not dark, real sweet, y’know?” she felt like she needed to whisper it.

The waitress was nice, talked to Amber in a sweet tone of voice and when she saw Amber shrugging, turned her head to Melmord. Who responded in French? It was a stammering, almost insecure accent but the girl wrote something on her notepad before walking back inside of the building.

“I-I’m sorry, you know French?” she asked.

Melmord waved his hand in a “so-so” gesture.

“Kinda, I took it in school. And I had some cool, artsy friends,” he shrugged.

Amber wasn’t sure what having cool, artsy friends meant when it came to learning a language. So she just didn’t pry. They passed the time with idle conversation until their drinks were brought out, light colored coffee in little cups and saucers. Whatever Melmord had ordered for her - it was good. She liked it a lot. Sweet but not overpoweringly so with a rich, deep coffee flavor despite the light color from cream.

“It has lavender in it,” Melmord’s voice was excited and eager as he talked. “You like it?”

Amber nodded her approval and he smiled before taking a sip of his own drink. Which, she realized, was the same thing as what he had ordered her. The same sweet and floral taste, the same light beige color. It was another surprise.

“You want to walk around more after this? Or is the fresh air enough for you?” Melmord asked. “Up to you, since I just trot after you and all.”

“You don’t do _just_ that,” Amber replied more into the cup of coffee than to Melmord himself.

“I _mostly_ do that,” he corrected himself.

“Right!”

There was a light laugh between the two of them before Amber looked up at the sky.

“I’ve never gotten to see the Eiffel Tower,” she said softly. “Is it all it’s cracked up to be?”

“I dunno? I haven’t been either,” Melmord tipped back in his chair.

“Do you-?”

It felt silly to ask.

“Wouldn’t you wanna do that with...like, your husband?”

That understanding reared its head again. Amber took another sip of her drink and set it on the saucer, the porcelain clicking together gently as she did.

“He won’t know if I’ve been twice,” she said with a wink.

There was a giddiness that coursed through her at that. To go and visit with, well, anyone would be fun! But there was a little thrill about going twice and hiding it. She wasn’t even sure if Seth would be mad if he found out she had gone out of the hotel by herself. He would get defensive and protective, not possessive, but watching Sydney burn the way it had...he had gotten paranoid.

Paris was not Sydney.

Melmord was not Seth.

She could have both, couldn’t she? The freedom to walk the streets like a normal woman again. The gilded cage of bullet-proof glass boxes. The company of a charming man who was almost a stranger. The comforting arms of her husband.

Amber could have her cake, eat it and ask for a second slice if she so pleased.

Cups drained, Melmord beckoned the waitress over and paid the bill before she left. And he had that habit he had of still trying to tip, something that got him a confused look before Amber heard him say one of the only words she understood in the conversation.

“American.”

The waitress’ laugh was light and almost bell-like in how high and sweet it was, a hand on his shoulder that made something strange coil in Amber’s stomach. She shoved it aside in the same motion she pushed back her chair to stand with. Arm locked in Melmord’s, Amber watched as he took out his phone. A GPS was easier than being tourists and asking for directions.

Amber was thankful she had decided on flats. It had been a while since she had gone on any kind of long walk and her company was pleasant enough to ignore the blister forming on her ankle as she walked in low socks. Weren’t ballet flats supposed to be comfortable? She had sworn they were supposed to be comfortable.

And then, she saw it.

_Saw_ it.

The walking paid off and Amber’s grip on Melmord’s arm tightened.

“It’s gorgeous! I have got to get a picture with this-” she began with an excited squeal, turning to look at Melmord.

There was something far off and sad in his eyes, and it was so close that it felt like she could reach out and touch whatever emotions he was feeling. Like they were so visceral they were real, tangible things.

“Mel?” she asked.

“You can go i-inside,” he said. “Did you know? You can go inside and...and get a picture there.”

“Oh!”

She hadn’t. A sudden surge of guilt gnawed at her insides as she pulled away from Melmord.

“N-no, I didn’t,” she finally laughed a bit, looking back up at the tower.

She was just glad it was Melmord who saw the little lapse in judgement. It made her feel less like a stupid, uneducated hick. Because he never judged. Never made a complaint about harmless mistakes about pronunciation or etiquette or anything like that. Nobody ever really did, but she felt like she was always judged for those things, and to feel free of that made her happy.

“I might…” she chewed her lip. “I might save that, for Seth. It’s getting a bit late, he might be coming out of that meeting soon. But do you want to take a picture? With me?”

Melmord swallowed.

"Yeah," he grinned. "Like, of you?"

"No. With me," she repeated.

He blinked, chuckled and it was as if those emotions in his eyes dimmed entirely. But Amber draped an arm around his shoulder and grinned as she drew him close, turning on her phone to get a good shot of the two of them with that lovely background.

"Smile," she urged.

They smiled, cheeks pressed together, faces bright and happy.

Amber took countless photos during that trip. Of the baby. Of Seth. Of all of them together. Of dinners with the family, of dinners with just husband and wife. Of nice hotel rooms and landscapes and wine tastings and every nice expensive luxury. Of Seth and Amber together, in the Eiffel Tower, happy and a little drunk during a nice, warm night.

But that photo with Melmord - unposted, secreted away like a crow setting aside something shiny in its nest - was her favorite.


End file.
